༺ TWENTY - TWO ༻

Today, we're working on the things I have to dance without Aris. It's just me, Janson, and Henry in one room.

I don't mind. Really. I trust them.

Thomas, in fact...

After he asked what I'd be doing at ballet today and I told him, he first tried convincing me to pretend I'm sick, then suggested to sabotage so he could watch practice too, and almost called Teresa to make sure everything went well and 'highly decent so no one will be killed by the power duo Lovely Lofty Lizard and Lady Glitter Pie'.

Sigh. But with a big smile and a lot of butterflies.

"Alright. Take a break," Janson says after an hour of dancing 'till I'm out of breath. Fast, I take a few sips of water. Not too much. I can't get bloated, after all.

"Any tips?" I look up at Henry and Janson. "Were my legs straight enough?"

"It was good," Henry says, and he continues quietly discussing something with Janson.

Eventually, I decide to just take my phone in the small break.

He's online the second I sent something.

T <3

Still alive! Lady Glitter Pie doesn't have to kill anyone today, or ever

After the play, I'll kill Janson. Has he been nice, at least?

Quit the violence!!

Answer my question!!
Otherwise, I'll kill him right now

But then I'd have no teacher and I'd suck at the play, and might not be able to dance.
And yes, he's being nice

You're a natural, you'll shine even more without Janson, trust me!!
Anyway, Friday night at work today, remember? AKA, party night

Got it.
This is random but what's your Snapchat user?? I need to sent you pics to prove everyone is nice and I need pics from you to see if you're not killing anyone

Moviekidd826

I love that

You're the first one, excluding me.
What's your user??

DancingrosE

Is that E supposed to represent Newt's voice cracks?

No, to make sure people know I prefer Rose over Rosa, though Rosa makes more since with the Rosalind :)

I like both
Love*
But
Blondie
Is
Better

Only if you call me that

Of course. I'll kill anyone else who calls you that.

Maybe you should stop involving murder into every bloody sentence, though

Why can't I say 'kill' but you can say 'bloody'? It refers to the same thing: murder!!!

Watch out, cuz my nickname for you is abt to be Murderer

Oehh, I'll be the scary boyfrienddd
"Where's your scary boyfriend?
Probably doing scary boyfriend things."
Imagine

Mhm
Janson wants me to put my phone away
See you in an hour x

Tell Janson he should put himself and his ego away
In the trash can
Which is also his home
And food
And wife
And the other million things on my list
It's like that Burn Book

Childish

I'm smiling brightly when I look back up at the two teachers. Texting Thomas will change my mood no matter what, and I know I'll dance awesomely this last hour.

Janson gives me a questioning look.

"Just texting someone," I announce as I get up. "Let's get started again."

I practice and they give tips for the following minutes. At some point, I'm feel both my concentration and neatness loosen, so ask for another pause in which I chug down more water to get rid of that empty feeling in my stomach.

Since Tuesday, the day where I do eat lunch and dinner, I haven't eaten anything else than apples. One in the morning, one in the evening, and sometimes some yoghurt if I really can't take it.

I've got to find a way to make my stomach stop making noises. As I mentioned before, the hunger is eating my insides in a way that I no longer feel it, and the dizziness distracts me.

"At the play, you'll have to be able to dance without all those pauses, Rosalind," Janson tells me, sitting down. "Work on it."

I nod, fast.

"And catch some more sleep. You look like a ghost."

Vaguely offended, I nod again. I run a hand through my hair as I do so, and when I feel the texture against my skin, I realize I should maybe buy new shampoo. This one is making my hair bloody thin.

A part of me wants to ask him about my body and if it's perfect now, but something stops me.

It's knowing that I'll have to stop my diet if he says it's okay. And the idea of not watching the number go down feels the same as not being able to get sleep when you're freaking tired.

"Your torso," he's saying.

My head snaps back up. "What about it?" And my voice comes out weaker than I originally intended.

"I can see your ribs."

I'm not sure if it is, but I'll take it as a compliment.

"Is that- is that good?" I blurt out, a slight blush on my cheeks. At least he's finally talking about my weight.

"Have you lost the eight pounds?"

See? It's not noticeable. I swallow. "I have."

His eyes narrow. "Or more?"

"Fifteen," I say quietly.

"Sorry?"

He didn't hear me.

"I lost fifteen pounds," I say, just a little louder while I try to control my emotions. "You never said anything about the eight pounds so I thought that if I continued until—"

He holds up his hand to stop me. "It's fine. I can't care much as long as you dance well and you're not ugly skinny."

Ugly skinny. I frown. No body type but my own has ever seemed ugly to me. It almost sounds unbelievable, but I did really admire everyone around me, especially when I was younger.

I can genuinely not hate on any stranger except for myself.

"Alright. Just go home and sleep well. That's very important," Janson tells me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye," I tell him before I quickly walk away.

He said it was fine. As long as I'm not ugly skinny, it's fine. As long as I dance well, it's fine. I don't know what ugly skinny is, but maybe if in a few weeks I see myself like I do now, except in the skinny version, I'll understand.

I sit down in Thomas's car with a quiet greeting, doing my best to smile.

But fine is not perfect. It has to be perfect.

He doesn't start driving because he's taking my whole body in with his eyes, and I shrink at it. "What happened?" Thomas urges, his eyes boring into mine as his hands tighten around the wheel. "What'd he say?"

I shake my head. I don't want to lie, but I have to. "Nothing. I just didn't sleep the best so my dancing skills weren't awesome. I feel bad about it."

Partly the truth.

He intertwines my fingers with his. "You can talk to me, alright? About anything. I won't laugh or tell anyone. I'm here for you."

I gift him a small smile. "I'm here for you too," I say quietly. "Thank you, Thomas."

After a quick glare around, he kisses my cheek. I wish to melt into his shoulder at the movement, but can't. "No problem." He squeezes my hand.

Finally, we're driving. I lean back in my seat. After the two hour practice, my head is as heavy as my legs and I feel my eyes attempting to drop closed.

Maybe I should eat a little more to gain energy.

But I can't. The scale should stay the same. As long as it doesn't go up, I'll be okay. But if it does... then I don't know what I'd do.

"Hey." Thomas squeezes my hand again. "If you're tired, you can skip work. Or maybe try to sleep in these twenty minutes."

Almost always, he notices everything. Every feeling I have. As if he reads every expression and as if he notes down every single movement to know what it means.

Can't deny I know his movements, too.

He runs a hand through his hair when he's nervous or just wants to fix it, scrunches his nose when he's either confused or making up a plan, rubs his chin when he's concentrated, or sometimes sticks his tongue out, and has this expression when he's... well, I still can't really tell.

Either jealousy of protectiveness.

Anyway— I'm not sure what to reply. I am tired, yes. But I'll feel like a coward if I step back from work.

On the other side, pretending to be fine when I'm on the verge of crying and am tired isn't a nice combination, and something about lying when it comes to being fine or not makes me feel a discomfort too.

Like, it's okay to say you're alright while you're not once or twice, but I understand that if I want everyone around me to be okay, I'll also have to give an example by sharing my needs.

Deep logic, man.

"I think..." I start. Goosebumps form on my arms for no reason. "I think I'll eat something first," I eventually say.

One meal won't lead to the scale going up, right? Sadly, I didn't bring the pills. Guess I'll have to burn the calories off by serving the whole night. I'll do a workout at home tonight, too.

"Then we make that happen," Thomas immediately replies, his face lighting up.

For the rest of the ride, his hand lies on my knee as I'm a bit dozed off, relaxing in my seat until we arrive.

Thomas somehow manages to pull us inside, get food, and sit us down in Random Cowshed in such a short amount of time that it makes me wonder how he even managed to do that.

"Lasagna." He places the hot plate down on my lap, his eyes twinkling. "Your favorite."

I smile because he remembers. And something about the way he's looking at me makes me want to cry in his arms as I tell him everything. But I can't. I know he'll make me eat more and I can't afford all the hard work to be for nothing.

Neither can I see the number go up. It has become something that I'm attached to. The number must. not. lower.

Thomas's smile is also some sort of grin as I take my first bite. The food is hot. Almost burns my tongue, but the taste overtops it and it takes a lot for me to not devour it immediately.

I don't really feel like vomiting tonight.

"Nice, right?" He takes a bite of his own lasagna. "Watch out for the mouth, though. If it's burned, I'm not sure if we'll be able to kiss it better."

I smile. "We can always try."

And he smiles too. "Even without burns."

Chuckling lightly, I take another bite. And another one and another one. I try not to think of the calories flooding into my body right now.

When I finish the plate, I already feel a lot better, besides the small bit of guilt.

"Want more?" Thomas suggests, but I politely decline. "Alright." He takes my plate. "One second."

I barely notice his absence, since he was literally gone for just five seconds and then comes back without any plates in his hands.

His lips touch my skin. Forehead, nose, cheek, and then a more passionate one on my mouth, which I cup his face at.

"What's all this for?" I let out a laugh when there's another kiss on my cheek.

"To show how proud I am of you," he says. "And maybe a little addicted."

"Proud of...? Why?"

"A lot. Eating the lasagna, getting the role of Clara, your determination, and being such a bella girl."

I blush deeply at his words.

I can't help it, even though I now realize Thomas maybe knows more about my diet than I think.

Because no one is randomly proud of another for eating some lasagna.